John Winchester's Great Big Bookof Personal Narratives
by Queen Edmund Pevensie
Summary: While they were growing up, John kept every single personal narrative the boys ever wrote. Somehow, there was a perfect twenty-four in his Great Big Book of Personal Narratives
1. Introduction

**A/N; For anyone who is particularly awesome and read Of Big Brothers and Kindergarten Jitters, I promised a companion piece, and here it is. It's going to be twenty-five chapters in all, a chapter for each piece. **

**Disclaimer: This is the final proof that I don't even understand the show, let alone own a part of it.  
**

**John Winchester's Great Big Book of Personal Narratives: Introduction**

This was what he and Mary had always planned to do. It was going to be the Winchesters' Book of Personal Narratives, by Sam and Dean. Now it was just his. John Winchester's Great Big Book of Personal Narratives. By Sam and Dean.

He put every single one, Kindergarten through twelfth grade, into a photo album the boys never bothered opening.

It was John Winchester most prized possession.

There was a perfect twenty-four in all.


	2. My Brother Sammy, By Dean

**A/N: Welcome to the first of two chapters of purposely misspelled words. **

**Kindergarten (School Year of 1984-1985)  
**

****My Brother Sammy, By Dean

My brothers name is Sam, but we cal him Sammy.

We had a fyr in ar hous.

I carryd him out ov ar hous.

My dad came out ov ar hous to.

Dad sed I savd Sam.


	3. Uncle Bobbys, By Sam

**A/N: Chapter Two of purposely misspelled words. Then we move on to first grade, with correctly spelled words! **

**Kindergarten (School Year of 1988-1989)**

Uncle Bobbys by Sam Winchester

Uncle Bobby is not my reel uncle. He is old and has no hare.

He waches us sometimes wen my dad werks.

My dad wekd alot this simmer and so we wer wached by uncle bobby alot.

He called us idjits.

Me and Dean played hide n seek.

Then I went to kindergarden at a diffrent school.


	4. My Family, by Dean

**A/N: Feel free to skip as I talk about my love for little kids and the amount of research I did for this...Okay, so I did start out doing a lot of research for this piece, because Kindergarten and First Grade were a long time ago, but in my research, I got to read some actual personal narratives written by first graders. I didn't follow to closely to the examples, because nothing happened when they were real little, or at least nothing Dean would feel comfortable sharing with his class, and nothing Sam knew about. So for first grade, I had them write about the most important things in their lives. But the point for this authour's note was to point out how much kids mature between kindergarten and first grade, and first and second grade too. **

**First Grade (School Year of 1985-1986) **

My Family by Dean Winchester

In my family I have a dad and a little brother. My dads name is John and he is really cool. My brother Sammy doesn't believe me when I say that we have the coolest dad ever.

My brother Sammy is going to be 2 soon. He has brown hair and giant eyes. He talks alot and about everything. He is really annoying.

That is the thing that is most important to me.


	5. Sam I Am, by Sam

**A/N: I only have up to Dean's second grade piece done, but second grade is when they start to take on the form of actual personal narratives, and hopefully I'm an okay enough of a writer to show growth. So this is the last one for today. **

**First Grade (School Year of 1989-1990)  
**

****Sam I Am, by Sam Winchester

When I was little my big brother went to school and taught me how to read and sing my alphabet.

When I could read good enough Dean went to the store and bought me a book. He bought me Green Eggs and Ham because my name is Sam.

He brought it home and read it to me. He read it to me every single night. Then I started to read it.

I like that book alot.


	6. On the Plane, by Dean

**A/N: Second Grade takes on the form of having something close to a plot, mostly correct spelling, and grammar that is almost acceptable.**

**A/N2: It's really late, I know. Sam's second grade piece took me a lot longer than I expected.  
**

**Second Grade (School Year of 1986-1987)  
**On the Plane by Dean Winchester

My dad rushed to the air port and grabbed my brother and a duffle bag. "Grab a bag too Dean!" he called. He was feeling very rushed because we were in Pennsylvania and he had a very urgent job in California. When dad has a job on different sides of the country we usually have to drive but not this time because it was super important. My dad rushed across the parking lot and I rushed after him. After a little while we got on the was a big roaring sound and the place started to shake like crazy. I started to shake too but not because I was scared because I am brave.

Woosh! We started shaking harder and Sammy started crying. It hurt my ears but old ladies with shiny gray hair shhed him. It made my face feel hot when they did that because Sammy is just a baby and he was scared because we were going so fast. The trees were rushing past in greenish blurs like they sometimes do in Dad's car. Slowly we rose higher and higher until we were up in the sky. I leaned over Sam to look out the window. The ground was getting further away from us and the buildings and trees were getting small. I couldn't see people anymore. It made my stomach feel funny to be so high. The machine was shaking loudly and I swore we were going to fall out of the sky. My hands were wet with sweat and were gripping the seat tightly. I wanted to find the pilot and help him but I didn't even know how to drive. I thought maybe dad could try instead but he didn't look scared so I didn't want to ask. I didn't ask about anything the entire time. Sammy relaxed, which was a good thing but then I started to think about how accidents happen all the time and sometimes things happen which are not accidents but seem like they are. I wanted to make sure nothing bad happened now but I didn't know how.

By the time the plane landed I never wanted to fly again.


	7. Weekend in Wisconsin, by Sam

**A/N: This is the whole reason second grade is so late. It's 122 words, and it took me a lot longer than it should have. There's an introduction that I wrote, but it made it too long, even though it is very Sam. I hope that this chapter is good enough to warrant the amount of time I spent on it. **

**Disclaimer: 1x18.  
**

**Second Grade (School Year of** 1990-1991)  
Weekend in Wisconsin, by Sam Winchester 

We were in Wisconsin. Dad works in Wisconsin alot. He had a job in a town a few towns away from the town we were staying in. I was watching TV when Dad left. He gave Dean the same instructions he had been giving him all day long. Dad kissed me on the top of my head and told me "Be good for your brother Sammy." Then he was out the door.

It was a fun weekend until Sunday because me and Dean were getting antsy and were, like Dad says, "biting each others' heads off." Dean put me to bed on Sunday night, which was the night Dad said he would get back and the night he did get back. I heard Dean go out even though it was against the rules. Dean breaks the rules sometimes even Dad's rules sometimes. Mostly because he says they're usually just suggestions. Like chewing gum in school. After he locked the door behind him, I fell asleep. It felt like two seconds later when I heard a loud bang and Dad shouting. He wasn't shouting at me. He was shouting at Dean. Probably for breaking the rules. I was still tired so I couldn't hear very well or see very well or breathe very well. My head hurt a little too. Like when you run for too long with not enough water. Dad grabbed me and pulled me onto his lap. He was shaking and cold and he kept his fingers running through my hair. "Sammy? Sammy? Are you all right? Are you okay?" He put my head right against his chest and his heart was going a million miles an hour like he was scared only Dad doesn't get scared. He wouldn't let go of my head. I tried to ask what was happening but Dad ignored me. His heart was still beating fast and heart was still beating fast and his hands were still shaking. Then Dad asked "what happened?" but not to me. He asked Dean. "I just went out," answered Dean. Dad's heart beat faster and he hugged me closer. "What?" he asked really angry and scared only dad doesn't get scared. Then Dad started to yell at Dean for a little, and we sat there for a little bit and I started to cry because I was scared. Dad picked me up and dumped me in the car. Dean came in a few seconds later with my stuff and his stuff and didn't say anything and put our stuff in between us so I couldn't sit next to him. Then Dad got in the car too and he didn't say anything either. He was scared only Dad doesn't get scared. I kept asking what happened and where we were going but no one would tell me anything, except once Dad yelled and said, "Shut up, Sam!" He was driving really fast like he was running away from someone and muttering like he does when he's upset and saying lots of bad words and Dean wouldn't say anything. Dad might have been crying. That was really scary because Dad doesn't ever was saying my name a lot.

He drove us to Pastor Jim's and got out of the car without us and had a loud discussion with Pastor Jim who didn't say anything either. Everyone was being really quiet except for Dad. Pastor Jim and Dad walked over to the car. Dad was mostly just angry now. He was yelling a lot and Pastor Jim, who doesn't get angry, was talking quietly to him. Dad wrenched open the car door and shouted, "Get out!" Dean nodded and gabbed our bags. I climbed out after him and Dad slammed our door and climbed in the car and drove away. "Where's Dad going?" I asked but Pastor Jim didn't answer. "Go inside and go to bed, boys," he said instead. Dean and I went upstairs to our where we always stayed when we went to Pastor Jim's. "Is Dad okay Dean?" I asked. Dean shrugged. Dean hadn't said anything since Wisconsin. I was starting to become very very afraid. "What's going on Dean?" asked instead. "Where's Dad?" Dean turned to look at me. "Go to sleep Sammy." Dean turned off the light and went to sleep which meant we were all going to die.


	8. Sunday Afternoon, by Dean

**A/N: I am enjoying this way too much.  
**

**Third Grade (School Year of 1987-1988)**

****Sunday Afternoon by Dean Winchester 

"Come on, Dean!" my Dad called. We were going to play baseball on the front lawn. I was excited because I hadn't played baseball since I was four-years-old. I grabbed my ball, and mitt, and followed my Dad outside. It was a Sunday afternoon in May around my brother's birthday.

My dad tossed me the ball and I caught it because I am awesome. We played catch for a long time when Sam woke up from his nap and came waddling outside. "I want to play!" he whined. Sam is kind of whiny when he wakes up from his nap. Dad did a sigh and said, "Pass the ball to your brother Dean." I hugged because Sam doesn't know how to catch or throw, but he pouted at me until I threw the ball to him. He caught it and I was so surprised I actually gave him a compliment. "Good job, Sammy!" He threw the ball back to me, and pretty soon Dad was out of the game but he didn't say anything. (Okay, so our game of catch involved alot of me running forward a few steps every time Sam threw, and me not really throwing the ball, but it was still fun.)

Sam noticed that Dad wasn't getting the ball passed to him anymore. He was just sitting on the step smiling like he hardly ever does. "Hey Dad, want to play too?" Dad shook his head. "No thanks Sammy," he said. "I'm good." So Sam passed the ball back to me. I passed it to Sam and Sam passed it back to me. Then I thought it would be funny to throw the ball way over Sam's head. Sam watched it fly above him and roll down the hill. Sam ran after it. "Be careful, dude!" Dad called after him. Sam was off down the hill where I could see him retrieving our play thing.

Suddenly Sam tripped over a log and landed on his face, scraping his hands and knees. He looked around him and then he started crying. I was already down the hill when he started to cry. Dad was only a few steps after me. "Sam! Sam! Are you okay?" we were both asking. Sam kept on crying. Dad picked Sam up and sat down on the log Sam had tripped over and put Sam on his knees. "You're a big guy, right Sam?" he asked. You're not hurt, man. You're going to be fine." Sam just sniffed and looked at me and Dad with big eyes. "I lost the ball," he said.

That is the story of the time Sam made me go swimming in a lake to retrieve his baseball. I'm not telling that part though because there are lots of bad words and swimming and Sam laughing and saying he was sorry. It's not interesting.


	9. Vacation, by Sam

**A/N: This is part of a Pollyanna present for my friend Anya. I was going to write it anyway, but now she gets a physical copy to read. Isn't that special? Also, this is my favorite yet. Definitely**

**A/N2: As a junior Dean is going to write about this experience. I am so excited and that is so far away. **

**Third Grade (School Year of 1991-1992)  
**

Vacation by Sam Winchester

I had never been to the beach before. Only once when I was really little with my mom and dad and my brother. So I was really excited when Dad came home one day and said that we were going to the beach. I have heard all about the beach from school but I didn't actually know what it was like. We packed up the Impala like normal, but instead of dreading moving like I usually do I was tingling with excitement. It took us a short drive of two whole hours to get to the beach and because Dean is eleven he sat up front with Dad. When we got close Dean rolled down the window and turned back and smiled at me. "Smell that, Sammy?" Dean said to me "That is the smell of the ocean." I sniffed and I got the scent of saltiness and coldness and I got really excited about the beach and the ocean. I leaned forward and tugged on the collar of Dean's jacket. "What's the beach like Dean?" I asked him. "Wait and see," he said.

Dad pulled the car onto a rocky driveway and parked. He led the way into the house and said this would be just like a vacation when Dean was little. Dean got a funny look on his face when Dad said that. "Aren't you working Dad?" he asked. Dad sighed. "Yeah I am Dean but we'll stay a whole week so you boys can enjoy the summer." I smiled big and took Dean to explore the house with me. The kitchen was as big as most places we stay and there were enough rooms for me, Dean, and Dad to all have our own. I shared a room all the rest of the nights except the first.

The first night at the beach was so exciting! Dad took me and Dean out to dinner at a fancy place with pasta and chicken fingers and a salad bar. Then he took us to the boardwalk. I wanted to go on all the big rides but some I was too small for and some Dean wouldn't come on with me because he's actually a big baby. Eventually, I convinced him to go on a roller coaster with me. He screamed the whole time while I laughed like there was nothing more fun in the entire world. Dean and I waled around the whole board walk. We went on the bumper boats and bumper cars a bunch. Sometimes it was me versus Dean, and other times, me and Dean were in the same boat or car and it was me and Dean versus everyone else. Dad came and found us and did bumper cars against us. And then he took turns being with us. When it was dark Dad bought us ice cream at his favorite place from when he was little. Then Dad bought us sweatshirts and said he saved the best for last.

We went to the beach. The sand was squishy and hard to walk on. I bent down to touch it and it stuck to my hand. The sand was cold. Dean and I took our sneakers and socks off and raced back in fourth across the sand. Dad brought a blanket and was sitting on it watching us. Then Dean grinned mischievously at me and said, "Race ya!" He pointed to the water and didn't give me a head start or anything, but it doesn't matter because I caught up to him. Dean splashed into the water which was crashing loudly on the beach. I splashed after him. The water was really cold and my pants got wet but I didn't care because it was fun to have big waves reach up into the sky and come rushing towards us. Dean splashed some water in my face and I spat it out because it was salty, like bad french fries. Dean laughed so I splashed him back. Dad had moved closer to us with our sneakers in both of his hands and the blanket slung over his shoulder like a bag. "Come in Dad!" I shouted. Dad didn't say anything for a few seconds and then he put down our stuff and came into the water. He caught me and put me on his shoulder like the blanket had been and chased Dean around until we were both slung, giggling, over his shoulder. Dad marched deeper and deeper into the water and threw us. We didn't go far.

We stood there for a long time. Dean had to stand on his tip-toes to keep his head above the water when a wave came and I clung onto Dad's arm. Then Dad said, "Let's go before we all die on pneumonia." We walked home shivering but Dad turned on the heat and we all took showers and Dad made us hot chocolate even though it was May and we all stayed up and watched a scary movie until it was way past all of our bed times.


	10. My Mom, by Dean

**A/N: So, if any of you read the really bad piece I wrote over the summer, it was mostly about personal narratives, and this was supposed to be about Dean playing catch with his Dad. It started out that way. But it did not end that way at all. Oh God. What I mean to say, is that this totally did not happen at all. It's almost believable that he wrote this, but it is not, in any way, shape or form, believable that Dean read this out loud to his fourth grade class. **

**Fourth Grade (School Year of 1988-1989)  
**My Mom, by Dean Winchester

My Dad looked up at our house in Lawrence Kansas. When my dad talks about it (but not to me or Sammy) he says it was the happiest time of his life. Mom was waking Sammy up from his nap. I was outside with my Dad. I was four years old. In a couple of months I would be five. Dad was playing soccer with me and the boy from next door who was already five and his dad. It was kids against grownups and I thought the other kid and I were just really great at soccer. I know now that they were letting us win. Mom came outside with my baby brother Sam. He was six months old that day. He sat on Mom's lap and they watched us play. Sam was a really good baby. He hardly ever cried, except when he needed something and Dad says now that it was only because he couldn't do it for himself. Mom and Sam cheered me and the other kid on and I felt invincible. I agree with Dad. This was the happiest time in my life.

When it started to get dark, Dad called the game off and said me and the other kid won. "Let's go in for dinner, Dean," he said. I ran up to Mom, who was playing with Sammy on the step. "I won Mom!" I exclaimed. "Did you see?" Mom smiled at me. "Good job Dean. Really kicked Daddy's butt huh?" She smiled up at Dad who agreed that I was the best soccer player he had ever met. We went inside and I tried to play with Sam but he was really little so I had a hard time. Then Mom came in to give Sam dinner, so I built blocks by myself. Mom and Dad were in the kitchen. I heard Mom tell Dad to feed Sam and I heard them keep talking. It sounded boring and grownup so I didn't listen. I wish I did. Mom called me in for dinner and we said our prayers and ate dinner. It was just like any week night when Dad got home early from work.

We finished dinner and Sam and I got baths and got put to bed. I got to tuck Sam in bed just like I had done every night for the past six months and Dad carried me to my room with my clothes and my toys and my bed and tucked me in. Then Mom came in and she said, "Good night love." "Good night Mom," I said. "Angels are watching over you," she told me, like she had every day since the day I was born. Mom turned off the light.

The next thing I knew I heard Mom scream, "Sammy!" I burst out of bed and down the hall to check on Sammy, but Dad was already there. The room that belonged to Sam was glowing orange and it felt hot. Dad had a look on his face that scares me when I see it now. I peeked into the room to see if I could see what was going on, and I saw something I spent the next few months trying to convince myself I didn't see. Then I stopped thinking about my mom stuck in Sam's nursery because Dad stuck Sam in my arms and yelled, "Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back!" I wanted to ask about Mom but my voice got stuck in my throat and Sam suddenly clung onto me with his little baby hands. I stood there looking at Dad. "Now Dean! Go!" I turned and I ran. I ran down the stairs to the front door. I had to stop to open it first and I almost dropped Sam but I made it out and I didn't stop to close it again because I knew Dad would be right behind me and I was very scared. The whole house was getting hot and I wanted to be out of the house with Mom and Dad and Sam so I would know they were all safe. I still thought Dad was going to come out of the house with Mom, even though I saw her being eaten up by flames. I was four. I didn't know. I stopped outside on the front lawn where I had played soccer with Dad and the other kid and the other kid's dad and watched the fire burn up my house. Sam was crying a little I think. "It's okay Sam," I promised.

Then Dad came charging out of the house and picked up me and picked up Sam and ran. He ran to the street where our car was parked and he waited for the fire department and the police to show up. Neighbors came out of their houses and the emergency vehicles showed up and put out the fire. They gave us a blanket and we sat on the car. Some men were talking to Dad and I remember all that Dad kept saying that night was, "My wife…my wife…" And eventually someone told him that she was dead and then they left us alone for a while so they could put out the fire. Sam sat in Dad's lap and Dad was crying a little I think. I didn't fall asleep again that night or the next night after that, but I didn't remember anything after we the emergency workers left us alone. I just remember that I didn't sleep.


	11. Christmas and Monsters, by Sam

**A/N: This is my late Christmas story. Sorry it's late. Sorry it's terrible. Sam's narrative is shorter than Dean's which, I don't know, is kind of weird. Anyway, hope everyone had a good holiday. I just realized that I don't get to write any more narratives of Sam and Dean being really little anymore, and it's kind of making me sad. Hopefully, you'll get fifth and sixth grade in January, and updates will continue in that fashion. **

**A/N2: 3x08 A Very Supernatural Christmas  
**

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**Fourth Grade (School Year of 1992-1993)**  
Christmas and Monsters, by Sam Winchester

I used to think my Dad was a traveling salesman who may have possibly been a spy, just because real people are actually spies and my dad never told us anything about his job. My dad sometimes leaves for a few days with Dean in charge, but he would always be home for Christmas and Thanksgiving and our birthdays. He always tried to make it home for Christmas Eve. I used to never worry that Dad wouldn't come home. I used to never worry that something could get us. Last Christmas Eve, Dad left his journal, that I was pretty sure held the secrets of the universe, when he went to work and I took it before Dean could hide it.

Ever since I was little Dean and Dad have tried to keep me safe by not telling me anything. I told them I was old enough but they didn't care. When I saw that Dad left his journal, I hid it under my mattress to read whenever Dean left me alone long enough for me to read to find out why we were so different from everyone else at school. That opportunity came on Christmas Eve when I asked about Mom and Dean got angry. He does that sometimes. He gets stupidly angry whenever anyone but Dad talks about our Mom. _Dad _doesn't get as angry as Dean does. Dad just gets sad, and if he's in a good mood he will tell me a story about her and Dean will pretend he can't hear us. Dean stood up when I asked about Mom and got up in my face. "Don't you ever talk about Mom! Ever!" he shouted. Dean stormed past me and grabbed his coat. "Where are you going?" I asked. He opened the door. "Out!" he grumbled. Dean slammed the door behind him.

As upset as I was at being left alone on Christmas Eve, I realized this was a great opportunity to find out what Dean and Dad had been hiding from me my whole life. I pulled Dad's journal from under my mattress and opened it up and read it. Dad's handwriting was hard to decipher at first, but eventually I made it out and read what Dad had written down since the day mom died. I didn't believe what I was reading but the more I read the more things made sense. I wanted Dean to come home and tell me it wasn't true, but I knew it was the truth and I especially didn't want Dean to lie to me, and I knew he would, if it would make me feel better.

After I read through most of Dad's journal to fill in the blanks I hid it back under my mattress and sat down on the couch and waited for Dean to come back so I could confront him about the things I read. Dean came back after a little while with "dinner" and I asked him right away. "Are monsters real?" I asked. Dean looked up at me and I knew I got it right even though he said, "You're crazy," without missing a beat. I got it out of him though because I kept talking about monsters and Dad and Mom and then I realized that if monsters were real then we were in danger. "I read in Dad's book that they goy Mom. If they can get Mom then they can get Dad and if they can get Dad then they can get us. Dean told me that they were not going to get Dad so I didn't have to worry. "Monsters are real," he said. "And Dad fights them." Dean came and sat next to me and suddenly I felt like crying. "You okay?" he asked, like he knew. He probably did. "Yeah," I lied. Dean didn't push me to talk though. I just lay down and went to sleep to Dean telling me it would be all right.

When I woke up I was under a blanket and Dean said that Dad had come and brought presents. Excited, I jumped out of bed to open them even though it was still nighttime, like two-thirty in the morning. The first present I opened was Sapphire Barbie and the next one was a magic wand thing that girls like that serves absolutely no purpose. Dean said so. I looked at Dean accusingly. "I stole them," he admitted. "I swear I didn't know they were chick presents," he promised. I handed Dean the present I was going to give to Dad. Dean didn't touch at first because it was for Dad. "I want you to have it," I told him. "Dad lied to me, you didn't." Dean smiled and opened the small present. Inside was a necklace but not the girly kind. Dean looked at it and then at me. "Thanks, Sam, I love it," he said and put it on. "Sorry I couldn't get you a real Christmas," he said. I shrugged. "Its okay, Dean," I told him. After that I went back to bed and Dean went back to bed too. When we woke up in the morning, Dad was sleeping on the pull-out couch and there were presents under the tree.


	12. Mr Louis Lewis, by Dean

**A/N: It is finally done. Sorry it's so late, it was supposed to be up last Friday. But I did research for this. The delay actually has nothing to do with research, and everything to do with me messing up the time line. But it also means that Dean's sixth grade narrative should be perfect.**

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Fifth Grade (School Year of 1989-1990)

Mr. Louis Lewis, by Dean Winchester 

It was February around Valentine's Day. We were in our third or fourth school of the year. I had been ten for a couple of weeks, and for my birthday Dad promised to take me to work with him. I was so excited. Dad has the greatest job. We tell people that he's a salesman but he's actually more like a superhero. We dropped Sam off at Uncle Bobby's, and Dad and I drove to Iowa where he said he had a job. We were about an hour and a half away from Uncle Bobby's house, so if Sam needed us to come home we could be there really soon. Dad gave me instructions about the job on the way there.

"Remember Dean," he said. "If I give you an instruction, it's for your own good and I need you to listen." I nodded so he knew I was paying attention but I was too excited to speak. "That means if I tell you to stay in the car while I deal with the job you need to wait in the car. Got it?"

"Yessir," I told him. Just because I had never been to work with Dad didn't mean I didn't know how dangerous it could be. Dad had already lost people to the job. Then Dad explained what the job was going to be. He said the most important part of his job was the research not the saving people stuff. He said that anyone can save someone, but you only really save people if you know what you're dealing with. I groaned because that sounded like school work. "Buck up, man, this stuff's important," he said. "You're going to be saving lives, Dean!" He told me more about the job after that. "There's some old spook down at Old St. Joseph's Hospital. He probably died there years ago," Dad told me. "Is it dangerous?" I asked excited. Dad gave me a funny look. "No," he said after a long time. "Not yet."

"I thought that I was going to be fighting evil!" I complained. Dad rolled his eyes. "You will," he promised. "Eventually but not today." I groaned but I let Dad continue to explain about the ghost in Old St. Joseph's Hospital. He said he thought he knew who it was and as soon as we got to Sioux City, Iowa, we were going to sit down together and figure out if Dad was right and where he was buried. Dad pulled into the motel parking lot and got us a room.

We put our stuff in the room and then Dad and I went grocery shopping because there was some stuff he needed for the hunt and while we were there I bought a box of Valentines' for Sam to give to his class and Dad got some food for dinner and talked me through the plan for tomorrow. He said we would start researching tonight (Dad already had everything we needed start) and I would finish it up tomorrow morning on my own while Dad talked to witnesses at the hospital. That night, we would probably know enough about the ghost to head out to the cemetery and burn its bones.

Me and Dad found out who the old man was. His name was Louis Lewis. He died a long time ago and Dad said we were lucky he wasn't vengeful just scaring the pants off of some of the patients down at the hospital. "Why is it still here?" I asked. Dad looked at me and thought about it for a while. "Some people just don't let go," he said. He got up. "When it gets dark, we'll head out," he told me.

Around six o'clock Dad grabbed some shovels and some salt, a box of matches, and some gasoline. He grabbed his gun but Dad, like most hunters, is paranoid, so he always has his gun. I helped him carry stuff out to the grave, and helped him dig it up. He told me if we get caught, he'll be charged with "grave desecration," but Dad said messing with graves is a disgusting crime and what we do saves lives, but the cops will just that we're psychos who burn bodies for kicks. That is why we shouldn't get caught. Dad stopped in front of the grave and started digging. He didn't say anything else because digging up a grave is the hardest part of the job. Dad's shovel finally hit a wood coffin and he pried it open. Inside was nothing but a skeleton. It wasn't cool or gross or scary or anything but a skeleton. Dad looked up at me. "You okay, dude?" he asked climbing out of the grave. "Yessir," I told him. "Good," he said.

Dad grabbed the salt and the gasoline and poured them both on the skeleton. "Sorry man," Dad told the skeleton as he struck the match and threw it in the grave. Dad put his arm across my chest and backed up so we would be farther away from the fire. Then we stood and watched it burn. I got to help Dad fill the hole in after the fire died down and all of the bones and teeth were gone. We got into the car and went back to the motel where I took a shower, and me and Dad ate a late dinner. As he was putting me to bed he stopped and said, "You did good, kid. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Dad," I said. Even though I didn't get to fight evil, it was still a fun weekend with my dad and he was right. We did do good!


	13. The Family Business, by Sam

**A/N: Wow, over a thousand words and written in one day. Wow, Anna, you're impressive.**

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Fifth Grade (School Year of 1993-1994)

The Family Business, By Sam Winchester

Dad climbed into the car last. I was sitting in the back with Dean because he said it was a special occasion. He even offered to let me ride shotgun today, but I declined because it made me too nervous to sit up front, especially because it was today. Dad looked back at me for a good long minute before he said, "You okay, Sam?" I nodded but Dad would have driven turned toward me the whole time if he could have, and Dean sat a whole ten inches closer to me than usual the whole ride.

"It's easy, Sam," he said. "Nothing to be worried about. Dad and I will be right beside you the whole time." He smiled crookedly at me. Dean was fourteen and was begging Dad to let him drive every other minute. I knew he was nervous about me because he hadn't asked Dad _at all. _

"I'm not nervous!" I insisted. Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, Sam," he said, like he didn't believe me. Dad and Dean insisted that there was nothing to be nervous about. We weren't even missing any school, because it was summer! There was nothing to be worried about especially because Dean and Dad were going to be right beside me the whole time. Nothing was going to happen to me, they promised. I wasn't nervous, and I definitely wasn't nervous that anything was going to happen to me.

On the way to the town that Dad had a job in, Dad talked all about the hunt, and Dean listened attentively. Dean laughed. "What?" I snapped. Dad gave me a "Sam-I'm-at-the-end-of-my-patience-don't-give-me-attitude-today," look. Dean pretended he didn't notice. "Well," he said, "It's just that your first hunt is an actual hunt!"

"And yours wasn't?" I inquired. Dean shrugged. That was the end of that conversation, and Dad went back to talking about the ghost. Dad didn't know who it could be, but he was haunting a house for the past thirty years, at least, only no one had reported anything strange until recently. There had been two deaths of two, apparently healthy, adolescent boys, who died for no reason the doctors could tell, in the past three years, Dad said. My dad's friend Bobby called him the day before and told him that he found a good hunt for my first one. So that was where we were going.

That's what my dad does. Sometimes, he's a mechanic, sometimes, he's a salesman, but he's always a hunter, and he's dead set on me and Dean following in his footsteps. Dad was anxious for me to start hunting and Dean was excited. Dad drives around the country with us and kills monsters. It's not a bad job, but it seems dangerous, and even though you save people, I don't think I want to grow up and do it.

Dad parked the car and we got out and moved into the motel room. I had known about hunting and monsters for about a year and a half but so far, I hadn't gotten to be a part of it before. Dad and Dean would come home and tell stories and it sounds kind of exciting. After we unpacked, Dean was granted permission to drive _very carefully_ to the _nearest diner_ and _right back. _"Or so help me, Dean-" Dad threatened as Dean walked out the door, cackling.

"Ready, Sam?" asked Dad, pulling something out of his bag. It looked like a lot of newspaper clippings because it _was_ a lot of newspaper clippings. For thirty or forty years, all about that house and the land and the families that have lived in that house. Ever.

"Yes," I said, coming over to Dad's side to help him with all those newspapers. "What do I have to do?" I asked. "We are going to find out about whatever is in that house," Dad told me. I nodded, and Dad laid all of the papers on the table and we went through them. Together, Dad I found a pattern, and found our ghost. Suddenly, Dean came in. Dad gave him a dirty look because the nearest diner was across the street and Dad could see the parking lot from out the window.

"Hey, genius," he said to me, putting the bags of food on the table on top of our newspaper clippings. Dad glared more. "How's it going?"

"I think I got it," I told him. He grinned. Dad forgot that Dean blatantly disobeyed him for the moment and said, "Yes, he did. Good job, Sam." I smiled and we all ate dinner.

The next day, Dean went to the house to talk to the parents of the boy who died. He was Dean's age, and Dean was a pretty convincing actor. Dad went out early to get the death records about our ghost suspect. He was a man named Thomas Lucas. One night, he went crazy because he didn't have any sons, and killed himself. We realized the reason that there weren't any recent reports on the ghost of Thomas Lucas was because there hadn't been that many sons living in that house. What we found was disappointing though. To put a spirit to rest, you have to salt and burn its bones. It's more complicated when there are no bones to burn.

This was more complicated because there were no bones to burn, because Thomas Lucas was cremated, which is when you get burned to ashes. When Dean got home, Dad gave him the bad news. Dean shook his head. "That house gave me a bad feeling," Dean said.

"What did you find out?" Dad asked.

"Tyler was an upstanding student, had straight A's, lots of friends, it's a tragedy, blah, blah, blah..." Both Dad and I glared at Dean. He shrugged. "Definitely a ghost," said Dean. "All the signs: cold spots, weird noises, flickering lights. Plus it gave me the creeps."

"Anything else?" pressed Dad. Dean sat up from where he was lounging on his bed. "Yeah," he said. "There was this creepy old _thing_ in the living room. The mom didn't know where it came from. She said it came with the house when they bought it," said Dean. "I don't know why she didn't get rid of it. Do you think it could be attached to the spook?"

"Yes," answered Dad. Dean grinned. "More good news, then," continued Dean. "The family is going to stay with relatives a couple of states away. They left just after I did."

That night, we snuck into their house and Dean turned on the light and pointed to the creepy object. "That's definitely what's keeping him here," I said. "It was in the picture of him in the newspaper."

Dean grabbed the creepy thing off the wall. I don't know what it was because as soon as he did, the room dropped ten degrees and the lights flickered and shut off. Dean flew back and Dad flew forward to catch him. They landed in a heap on the ground, and neither of them wasted any time in pulling out their guns, loaded with rock salt, and pointed them at a shimmering ghost. It was standing there, staring at me. He walked towards me and I was filled with chilling fear. I was so scared I couldn't move. Dean shot it and it flickered and disappeared.

Dad got off the floor. He grabbed the thing that the ghost was attached to and ordered me and Dean to build a fire. We got to work, but it was hard because Dean had to run out to the car a few times to get what we needed because we had been planning on transporting the thing and then burning it, but plans were changing. In the meantime, Dad fired shots at the ghost and made a ring of salt around us to keep him from hurting us. Only, when you're a ghost for a long time, you learn tricks and salt doesn't keep you out for long!

The ghost came at Dad when he wasn't looking. Dean was still trying to get the fire hot enough and I was still clutching the thing to my chest. Dad screamed and Dean froze and turned around. Dad was on the ground, struggling to get up and I wanted him to shoot the ghost in the face, and for Dean to hurry up with that fire already so we could be done with it!

Dad shot the ghost in the face. Dean turned back to the fire and while his back was turned the ghost grabbed me. It pulled me away from Dean and the fire and I dropped the thing and screamed. The ghost's hands felt ice cold on my arms and through my t-shirt. It wrapped its hands around my neck and they were so cold it burned right through my skin.

"Throw it in, Dean!" Dad yelled, and he shot in my direction. The bullets got stopped by the ghost, but the ghost only gripped tighter. Dad came towards me with the iron fire poker, but I was starting to see black spots.

Then the ghost was gone. I could breathe, but it hurt, and I fell forward. Before I hit the floor, Dad caught me. Dean was right by his side. "Are you okay?" they kept asking. I nodded and tried to say I was, but I couldn't. Dad wrapped me in his arms around me, and after a while he carried me out to the car. Dean sat in the backseat with me, and I was wrapped in Dean's arms. When we got to the motel, Dad helped me take a shower, and then he sat on the couch with me in his lap, and Dean tucked grudgingly under his other arm. He kept saying, "I'm sorry, Sam, I'm sorry." Dean rubbed my arm supportively, and I cried a lot.

I decided I didn't like hunting at all.


	14. Just for a Minute, by Dean

**A/N: Sorry for the new narrative for 1x18. I just, I needed Dean's POV too. I don't think I romanticize John too much. **

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Sixth Grade (School Year of 1990-1991)  
Just for A Minute by Dean Winchester

Dad left me in charge of Sam for a weekend. Just for Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday. Dad said he'd be back after we went to sleep and to _not _wait up for him. I promised I would not _wait _up for him (Dad gave me a funny look) and that Sam would be in bed by the proper time, and geez, Dad, chill. He gave me the usual instructions like don't leave the room and be careful. We went over them a million times like we always do when he goes to work for a couple of days. He doesn't like leaving me and Sam alone, but he has to sometimes and I understand.

"I'm not stupid, Dad," I reminded him. Dad smiled at me. "I know you're not," he said. "But it only takes one mistake." I nodded. Dad was right. It only takes one mistake to get yourself and everyone else hurt or into trouble. I'm an expert at getting into trouble so I should know. Dad smiled at me again. "Alright," he said. "Be good," he told me and Sam before he left.

It was an uneventful weekend and Dad called once on Saturday night to make sure Sam and I hadn't set the room on fire and to say goodnight. I reported the Sam and I had only fought once and that it was only a small fire. Dad laughed and it was a good sound to hear. Sam got on the phone to say goodnight to Dad and told him that I was being mean to him. I saw from the expression on Sam's face that Dad did not believe him. He told us that he loved us and that we should go to bed. We stayed up for a half-hour after Dad said goodnight and Sam hardly argued with me at all.

On Sunday though I started to get antsy and Sam was even worse. I would have been the happiest kid alive if Dad had been home Sunday morning and took us out to do kid things. Take us to a park, throw a baseball! Anything away from this room. What was worse than a couple of antsy kids in a motel room in November in Wisconsin? I'll tell you what! When one of those kids is Sam. I have discovered that Sam can never be bored because when he has played every tattered board game hidden under the beds twice, and read every book he owns enough for the rest of his life, and done his homework in seven different languages, and watched enough TV that his head is going to explode Sam will ask questions. Most of these questions will be stupid rhetorical unanswerable questions and when I give him a wise-guy answer he will spend the next eight hours talking about it. Then he will talk about his class and homework and what he had for lunch on the seventeenth day of school at the third school we went to when Sam was in kindergarten. Other times though, when Sam doesn't feel like reflecting on the mysteries of life, Sam asks about Mom and Dad and us. Luckily, Sunday was a day that Sam found himself in a philosophical mood, and he spent the _whole _day talking about the social repercussions, I kid you not, of TV violence. The kid is seven years old and talking to me about the TV violence in _cartoons_ like I care. The most amazing thing about it was that Sam maintained a completely neutral position throughout the whole discussion.

By dinner time though Sam was back to being antsy and whiny. We were both getting a little stir crazy and in my defense I had spent the last sixteen hours listening to a seven year old's opinion on gun control and so I was more antsy than I would have been when I snapped at him, "What do you want for dinner?" What he said next is not made up to make Sam look bad either. "Can I have Spaghetti-O's, Dean?" We had one can of Spaghetti-O's left and one bowl of Lucky Charms. I was really excited that Sam wanted Spaghetti-O's because I really wanted Lucky Charms and Sam _always _ finishes them. I didn't even mind having to make Sam Spaghetti-O's. Until, of course, Sam sat down at the table and looked at his Spaghetti-O's and said, "I want Lucky Charms." I had to think quick otherwise Sam would once again finish all the Lucky Charms and Dad might not buy them again for another month. "There's none left," I told him. Sam didn't buy it. "I saw the box, Dean," he said.

I huffed. "Yeah, well there's only enough for one bowl and I haven't had any yet!" Sam pouted at me for a full thirty seconds and that's all it took for me to cave. I decided if it took thirty seconds for me to give in to Sam's every whim I didn't deserve the Lucky Charms. I slammed the box of Lucky Charms down in front of Sam with a new bowl. He mumbled a thank you without looking at me and then his face lit up. Sam dug into the box of Lucky Charms and pulled out the prize. "Want it?" he asked, all hopeful like it was that easy for me to stop being mad at him. I took it because he was smiling at me with his hand out giving me the prize that he _told _me he wanted. "Thanks, Sammy," I said and I got myself a bowl of Spaghetti-O's.

I put Sam to bed and tried to go to bed too but I was too wired waiting for Dad to come home and from not using _any _energy this weekend at all and I couldn't really stand laying down. So I got up. When I did Sam stirred and blinked at me. "You okay, Dean?" he asked. "I'm okay, Sammy," I said. "Go back to sleep." Sam laid back down and fell right back to sleep. It was only like 8:30 pm and so I tried watching TV but the longer I sat still the more I wanted to get out of that room.

Around nine o'clock, I broke Dad's most important rule. Dad made this rule so nobody hurts me or Sam. The rule is: don't leave the room. If you _have _to leave the room go together. I knew I shouldn't have left the room but I couldn't stand being holed up in there any more. I grabbed my jacket and my key and locked the door behind me, checking to make sure Sam really was asleep first. Dad wouldn't know if I left so I wouldn't get in trouble. Even if Dad did find out I wouldn't get in too much trouble that it wouldn't be worth it. I walked across the parking lot to the arcade. I played every single stupid video game they had until the manager/owner came out and said, "Sorry kid, we're closing up." I got my jacket and my key and went back into the motel room. The door was still locked. Everything was exactly the way I left it except an hour later. I had been able to go out and stretch my legs without me or Sammy getting hurt.

Or so I thought. I heard a terrible, eerie sound coming from the back. I felt a chill run down my spine and I peeked around the corner to see if Sam was okay even though I knew he wasn't. Even though I knew that Sammy wasn't okay what I saw still startled and terrified me. Leaning over Sam was a tall figure dressed in black. I didn't think he had a face but I could see his hand protruding from underneath his robe. It was large and black with long, bony fingers that were reaching towards my sleeping brother. Panicked, I grabbed the gun that I knew where my dad left it and aimed it at the figure who was leaned in so close to Sammy it was almost like it was kissing him. If I looked closely I could actually see the life draining out of Sam and into the creature's hood.

I heard a bang and a shout, just as I was getting ready to clean up the mess I'd made by leaving the room. Dad had kicked the door in just in the nick of time. He was shouting me to get out of the way, and he had a gun pointed directly at the thing. After a couple of shots it fled out the window, but it didn't die. Dad hadn't stopped walking since he entered the room. He just fired off shots as he advanced. Now Dad was next to the bed and Sam. He threw the gun down and picked up Sam who hardly knew what was going on. But I did. I knew that that thing leaning over Sam was draining the life out of him. I knew that if Dad hadn't come home when he did, Sam would be dead. I knew it was my fault because I left the room even though Dad had told me not to.

"What happened?" asked Dad, and you'd have to be seven and half asleep to miss the panic in his voice. You'd have to be an idiot not to understand why. "I just went out," I admitted. Dad frowned at me. He was disappointed. "What?" he growled. He sounded so deadly serious that, for the first time in my life, I was scared of my dad. "Only for a minute," I said. I knew he'd get mad though. He was right to get mad. I made a mistake and Sam got hurt just like Dad said he would.

Dad exploded. "I told you not to leave this room! I told you not to let him out of your sight!" he yelled. Sam stirred a little in Dad's arms and all of Dad's attention got fixed on Sam, so he missed my, "You're right, I'm sorry." Dad carried Sam outside and put him in the car that I heard was still on. "Get packed," Dad told me in a voice that was only a little bit more gentle than before. "Yessir," I said and I packed up all of my stuff and Sam's stuff and checked around the room twice to make sure I didn't leave anything behind. I got into the car next to Sam, who immediately tried to be clingy. I put our stuff in between us so he couldn't.

We got to Pastor Jim's in under three hours and Dad did a lot of yelling at Pastor Jim, and some more yelling at me and Sam and we went to bed at Pastor Jim's. Late that night, so late that I might have dreamed it, I felt Dad slip into our room to check on Sam. I know I dreamed the next part because I felt Dad's hand on my head brushing my hair out of my face. I dreamed that Dad gave me a kiss and said, "I'm sorry, Deano," and sat on my bed and cry. I know it was a dream because I woke up and Dad wasn't in our room.


	15. Today, by Sam

**A/N: References to 2x13 and 8x12. **

**A/N: Once again, making John a really likable character. This is actually how he appeared to me on the show. What I mean to say is, I'm really excited about getting up in grade level. For a lot of reasons. **

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**Sixth Grade (School Year of 1994-1995)  
Today by Sam Winchester**

The sun was shining brightly in the sky. The air was cool and the sky was a bright, clear blue. Dad, Dean, and I were outside at a park. I was in second grade and Dean was in sixth. I remember this day because it was Today. On November 2, 1983, my mom died in a house fire. My dad lost it after that, but he keeps it together pretty well most of the time. But on Today, he drinks a little more and talks a little less, and Dean takes it upon himself to make sure I have breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and makes sure I go to bed and brush my teeth. But Today, Today, November 2, 1990, Dad took us to a park.

Dad isn't the only one who is sad on Today. Dean, usually all charm, and snark, and both guns blazing, doesn't laugh as much Today. He misses Mom a lot everyday of the year, but Today especially. Seven years ago Today was the last time Mom tucked us in and said goodnight. I miss Mom too, even though I can't remember her. Dean gave me an old picture of her, and Today, I usually take it out and look at it and think about how great she must have been. Dad and Dean never tell me I'm not allowed to miss her. I think about Mom's family Today, too, because they must miss her a lot. Dad doesn't talk to or about his family or Mom's, but I bet Mom's mom and dad miss Mom a lot.

Today, Today though, Dad doesn't talk about Mom. He doesn't think about Mom. He just wakes me and Dean up whistling the tune of that song I don't know the name of but sounds familiar. Maybe it's just because Dad whistles it or maybe because it's a famous song, but I recognize it either way. He makes breakfast like it is any old morning, and then he sits down and has breakfast with us. Even though, or maybe because, it is Today. Dean and I weren't going to school today because it was Today. And even if it weren't, Dad found a new job and it was time to move. Last night, we packed everything except for the things we would need this morning, and I was expecting a long day in the car.

Dad had different plans, however. "What do you boys want to do today?" Dad asked. Dean almost spit out his breakfast. Food is too important to him, however, so he kept it in his mouth.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"Sure," said Dad. "You have the day off, and Pastor Jim's not expecting us until tomorrow. The day is yours!"

I beamed but Dean, eleven-years-old and suspicious as anything, narrowed his eyes. Eventually, though, Dean either decided Dad wasn't up to anything or he didn't care, because he said, "Sure!" and Dean and I spent the first half-hour in the car, arguing about what we wanted to do. Dad didn't tell us to quit arguing or anything.

Finally, Dean and I agreed that we did not want to spend all day in the car or inside, and I suggested that we should go to the zoo; I had been there the year before on a class trip and thought it was fun. There was a zoo nearby, and we never got to go. Dad sighed and said, "Sounds like a good idea, Sam, but I bet all the animals will be asleep." Since that idea was no good, though, after two hours, Dad pulled into a new town and booked us a room. He told us not to unpack, and Dad left to get some stuff at the store.

Once Dad was out the door, Dean turned on me. "What do you think is up with Dad?" he asked.

"Nothing, Dean," I answered. "Is Dad not allowed to be in a good mood?"

"Not today," said Dean seriously. "If he's a good mood today, then something is wrong."

"Why, Dean?" I asked. Dean scowled.

"You know why!" he shouted.

"Because of Mom?" I asked sassily. Dean gave me a dirty look, but I wasn't backing down. "Why can't he just be happy, Dean?"

"Because he's Dad!" Dean yelled. We argued about it for a little while longer, and then the argument regressed into a conversation about superheroes. It was at that point that Dad came back. He made sandwiches and packed a backpack and the three of us waked to the park. Even though Dean said it wasn't possible, Dad seemed happy. I talked about all the things that second graders talk about: superheroes, animals, and the friends I'd made in school. Dad whistled and listened intently. When we got to the park, it was lunch time, so we sat down and ate our sandwiches together. There were a couple of young moms there with their little kids who got out of school. Dean pretended that they didn't exist. Dad got that screwed up look on his face that he gets when he realizes he's made a mistake. However, I was only seven, so I didn't realize it. After I finished lunch, I turned to Dean and said, "Let's go on the playground." Dean looked at Dad and he smiled his approval. Dean held my seven-year-old hand and he led me over to the swings.

There were monkey bars there. The summer before, Dean took me to a swim club. There was a playground there. After spending all afternoon coaching me in the hot sun, Dean had finally been able to teach me how to do monkey bars. It was colder out today, so my hands weren't sweaty. I had a better grip on the monkey bars, and I went back and forth a few times, Dean watching like a panicked father, my legs swinging wildly below me. I was a good two-and-a-half feet above the ground, but I wasn't scared.

I saw Dad watching from the picnic table. He was smiling, and I noticed other moms watching him watching us. We stayed at the park all afternoon until Dean got hungry and Dad didn't have any more food with him. We walked back to the motel and we ate dinner. Dad put us to bed and he turned on the TV to some old movie in black and white. Dad whistled along. It was the same tune he always whistled.

I heard Dean crying and I remembered that it was Today. Dean will kill me if he finds out I recorded that he cried once, but I think it's okay that he cries. I, in all of my second grade glory, got up and put my hand on Dean's shoulder. He pretended that he was asleep. "It's okay, Dean," I told him. I learned almost everything I know through Dean, and this was one of those things. Dean always tells me, "It's okay, Sammy," even when it's not, or even if he can't now it for sure. It's stupid, but it's comforting. Dean didn't look at me, or acknowledge me, or stop crying. I didn't know what he was crying about, but I think, now, that he was crying because he forgot that it was Today. That's the kind of person he is. Sometimes, that's the kind of person I am too. I looked at Dad on the pull out couch. He was dozing off and the movie was still on. I wondered if Dad forgot it was Today, too.

I went over to him. He didn't acknowledge me either. I wondered whether I should wake him up, _especially _because it was Today. I took a deep breath, and that did the trick. He sat up and looked at me blearily. "Sam?" he asked. "Are you okay?" I thought he was going to get the shotgun the way he said it. I nodded.

"I'm okay, Dad," I promised. Dad relaxed a little.

"What are you still doing up?" he asked groggily. I shrugged. I thought about it for a second, but I saw that Dad was starting to get impatient, so I did the thing I did a lot of in second grade: I said the first thing on my mind.

"Dean said you're not supposed to be happy today!" I blurted out.

Dad closed his eyes and counted to ten the way they teach you to do when you get angry. Once, Dad told me to count to thirty. Dean told me I should count to seven-hundred-and-six. That got the response he was looking for out of Dad; he closed his eyes and counted to ten. I don't think Dad was angry. Dad takes full advantage of the "count to ten" trick, even though it doesn't always work, for all of the things he feels.

"Why would he say that?" Dad asked placidly. I shrugged again, but not because I didn't know the answer.

"Because it's Today," I answered timidly. The day mom died, the day Dad's life went up in flames, the day everything fell apart, the day Dean and I lost every chance we had of a normal life. I waited for Dad's imminent explosion, but Dad just got quiet. He pursed his lips like he was thinking of saying something.

Then he shook his head and pressed his lips to more forehead. "Goodnight, Sam," he said. His breath smelled sour and sweet that night. I went back to bed and Dad started whistling that song again, even though it wasn't on anymore, and pretty soon he was asleep.

I was the last one awake in those final hours of Today, and I thought about how tomorrow we would be at Pastor Jim's in Michigan. Even though Pastor Jim surrounded himself with people like Dad, who scoff at religion and ask, "Where is your God?" he always prayed. He told me he prayed when things were difficult, or scary, or sad. He said that you didn't just have to be a Pastor to pray, either. He told me, in all of my _kindergarten _glory, that no matter who you are, God will listen to you. So that night, after both Dad and Dean fell to sleep, I got out of bed and kneeled down beside it. I folded my hands and said my first prayer.

"Dear God," I said, like I was starting a letter. "Pastor Jim said that you can hear me no matter where you are, and that you always listen to all of our prayers. I think that's pretty neat. It's kind of like a superpower. I don't really know how praying works. Am I supposed to thank you for stuff?" I asked. I received no answer. "Okay," I said. "Then thank you for my Dad and for Dean and for the car. Thank you for helping my Dad get through Today so he could be happy and take Dean and I to the park." I paused. I still received no answer. "Uh, thanks," I repeated. "I hope you can make Dad happy everyday because today was really great. For Today. Also," I whispered, looking over at Dean. "I hope that you can help Dean feel better, because he always helps me feel better when I'm sad." I paused again. God still didn't say anything back to me, but Pastor Jim said that God doesn't always talk to people in the same way that people talk to him or to each other. I took a deep breath. "Anyway, thank you," I said, and then I lowered my voice again. "_And please,_" I added. I stayed leaning against my bed for a long time until Dean woke up and looked at me.

"Hey, Sam," he said. "What are you still doing up?" he asked. I shrugged, because I didn't want to tell the truth. Dean got up out of bed and took my hand and sat on my bed, so I had to climb into bed too. He pulled the covers over me and said, "Goodnight, Sam."

"Night, Dean," I said. In the other room, Dad still had the TV on. Dean went back to bed. Before I drifted off as well, I whispered one more prayer. "Thank you, God," I said. "For listening."


	16. Dorothy Knighton, by Dean

**Dorothy Knighton (School Year of 1991-1992)**

**By Dean Winchester**

It was the end of the school year, the end of sixth grade. Finally! This school, Witeswamp Elementary, was probably the worst school in existence. If the snooty teachers weren't reason enough to hate the school, the other students and the lack of air conditioning were definitely a deciding factor. The kids at Witeswamp Elementary all had money. It's a rich area, even if the name makes you think differently. They all live in their huge mansions with nice clothes and nice things, and they look down their snooty little noses at me and just a couple of the other kids who don't have a thousand dollars in pocket money for a trip to the mall.

I know there are kids like that in every school. I've been to enough of them to know, but it was different in this school. The rich kids, in most schools, single themselves out and act like they're more important than the other kids, but at Witeswamp, they single out the poor kids and make you feel like dirt. It's not so bad in the sixth grade, because being rich isn't the same as being cruel, and I've dealt with snooty rich kids before to know which ones are going to beat you up just because they can, but in the second grade, my brother Sam has a harder time. Second graders are obnoxious and even worse, they don't know when they're being obnoxious. Sam's complained about the kids in his class enough times for both me and Dad to know they were a real problem. As much as I tease Sam about being whiny, he isn't really at all.

So that's why I was excited for the end of the year. I was twelve-years-old, and Dad had promised that this was the summer I'd finally be a part of the family business. But on this particular night, I was excited for a different reason. See, as much as I've groused and grumbled about the school, it wasn't all bad. I had a few friends and even something like a girlfriend. Her name was Dorothy Knighton. She had frizzy red hair and freckles. She was nice enough and really cute. And she held my hand just to make her twin sister, Carleigh, jealous.

And on the seventh of June, the last full day of school, Witeswamp Elementary was having a dance for the sixth graders, in celebration of them getting the heck out of their school, and moving into the junior high. On the third of June, I officially asked Dorothy Knighton to the sixth grade dance.

"Sure," she said. When her sister, Carleigh, walked by, she wrapped her arms around my neck and squealed, "Yes, _of course_ I'll go to the dance with you, Dean!" just to make Carleigh jealous. I winked at Carleigh as she passed. She huffed and stomped away. I knew I was being used by Dorothy Knighton, but being used by her felt pretty freaking great, so I didn't fight it.

At six o'clock on Friday night, my dad dropped me off outside the school where all of the students were congregated to greet their friends. My friends, Brad Golden, Colton McDonald, and Shayne Crawford were already there. Carleigh and Dorothy were walking up together. They were a little unsteady on their heels, but that didn't seem to matter because when Dorothy Knighton saw me she ran up and gave me a big hug. After Dorothy and Carleigh's friends got there, we went inside.

They played the songs on the top 40, and me and my friends hung out at the back of the gym, because we were far too cool to dance. At long last, Dorothy took me by the hand and led me into the very deserted cafeteria. I smirked excitedly. Together, still holding hands, we sat on one of the bench seats. She leaned over and kissed me on the lips. Her lips were soft and pink and tasted like cheap cherry lip gloss from the dollar store, but I liked it, so I smiled, and kissed her again.

Just then, Carleigh Knighton walked into the cafeteria. She scowled at me and Dorothy. "I can't believe you!" she shouted at Dorothy, who just smirked. When Carleigh stormed out of the cafeteria, Dorothy turned to me and said, "Thanks, Dean."

I smirked back. "No," I said, "Thank_ you_." That's how me and Dorothy Knighton broke up, but this story isn't over yet, because after Dorothy and I broke up, I went after her sister. I found her crying in a hallway.

I went after her with the idea that I'd get to kiss her too, but when I saw her, with tears streaming down her face, sniffling like her heart was broken, I felt sort of bad about taking advantage of her.

"Carleigh?"I asked. She sniffed in response, and she didn't turn around, so I didn't go any closer. "I'm sorry," I said. She still didn't turn around, but I took a step closer this time. "Dorothy is kind of a jerk," I offered. She shrugged. I took another step. "Are you okay?" I asked.

Carleigh shrugged again. Except this time she turned to face me. "I'm okay, Dean," she promised, wiping her eyes and nose. "It's not a big deal." She shrugged again.

"No, it is," I insisted. "We were wrong." I smirked. "Let me make it up to you," I said, taking another step. She looked at me curiously and then she smiled too and took a step toward me too. We met each other in the middle and kissed. She was a better kisser than her sister, definitely.

When my dad picked me up at nine o'clock, he asked me if I had fun. I shrugged and said, "I got to kiss Dorothy and Carleigh Knighton!" Dad sighed, and I grinned the rest of the way back.


	17. Truces and Soccer Championships, by Sam

**A/N: Very vaguely based on Sam being a soccer player at about this time in his life. Sometimes, I think I romanticize John a little too much, so here you go. A not so happy Daddy Winchester, and angsty teenage Sam.  
**

* * *

**Truces and Soccer Championships (School Year of 1995-1996)**

**By Sam Winchester **

Summer, believe it or not, is my least favorite time of year. The AC in the car doesn't always work, and Dad thinks that because Dean and I don't have school he can take us on his "road trips." So while Dean is _always_ excited about getting off school, I, on the other hand, relish the last month and a half of school, as it provides the only bit of stability and sanity in my crazy life.

This summer, Dad had already said we would be staying in town. He couldn't promise we would start the school year here, _obviously_, but we would stay the summer. He made the announcement soon enough for me to start thinking about soccer camp. My friend, Donnie Conway's dad ran a really great and competitive soccer camp, and two of my other friends, Robbie Moody and Trevor Morris, were going. Donnie said he could get us all a discount and maybe even play on the same team if we got back to him quickly enough.

The resulting argument I had with my dad didn't end pretty and I almost had to tell the guys I _would_ be moving over the summer, but Dean stepped in at the last minute and convinced Dad that soccer wasn't, in fact, the end of the world.

So every day in June and July, Trevor's mom picked me and Robbie up and drove us to soccer camp, and Robbie's mom picked us up. Every day, I played soccer with my friends from school, and man, turned out I was pretty good!

Dean came to our first game. Dad sat it out, because he was still resisting the idea that I, God forbid, do something normal! We weren't as good as I thought, and we lost, but our coach, Donnie's dad, said that was okay, because we had more games we could win. Dean was grinning at the sidelines like I won the world cup or something. "Good job, Sammy!" he cheered.

"We didn't win," I reminded him. Dean shrugged and he drove us home, where I was greeted with a big surprise. Dad had made dinner and didn't talk about his job at all, and he asked me about how the game went.

"Okay, I guess," I answered. Dad grinned and Dean started berating me on selling myself short.

"He did awesome, Dad, I swear," Dean said. "For a kids who's never played soccer before, wouldn't know it. By the end of the season, he'll be the best on his team! You should have seen him!"

"Did you win?" asked Dad. I shook my head. "You'll win next time," he said, which I took as my blessing to keep playing. "When's your next game?"

"Next week," I said in place of thanking him. "Will you come?" I asked.

"We'll see." Which was as much as I could hope for.

* * *

The next game, Dad was "working." If I had my guess, whatever he was doing had nothing to do with work. Dean came, though, and he cheered me on extra loud. Just like Dad and Donnie's dad said, we won.

"I wish Dad was here to see it," I told Dean. Dean grunted in response.

"He was busy," said Dean distractedly. I snorted to myself. "Let's go out to eat," Dean suggested. Over dinner, Dad called and apologized gruffly for missing the game, but he'd be at the next one. He promised.

* * *

Dad, believe it or not, was not at the next one. We won again. Coach said we were turning into the best team in the league, and I wished, once again, that Dad was here to see me play.

When I got home, I was so angry with Dad, we had a huge argument.

"You promised!" I told him. "You don't come to my games because you don't want me to play soccer! That's childish, Dad!"

Well, that didn't go over great with Dad and I almost lost soccer privileges for the rest of the season, and Dad told me to go to my room. "We'll talk about this later when we've both cooled down," he said.

* * *

Needless to say, we didn't talk about it later, and Dad didn't come to the next game.

Things continued in this manner for the rest of the season. I would go to practice with my friends and Dean would come to the games and drive me home. If Dad was "working" we would go out to eat and we would tread lightly around him when we got home. When we made playoffs, we went out for ice-cream.

When we got home that night, Dad was in a good enough mood that I off-handedly mentioned our success. He smiled and patted me on the back. "That's great, Sammy," he said, and he seemed actually pleased.

* * *

It was the last game of the season. It was the last week of July. I reminded Dad before I left that it was last time he'd get to see me play.

"I'll be there, Sam," he promised. I was worried the whole day that he might forget. So much so, that my friends even noticed. Dean showed up early with snacks and water bottles and I asked, "Is Dad coming?"

"He is, Sam," Dean assured me. "He promised."

"He promised last time, too," I muttered bitterly. Dean sighed.

"He'll be here," Dean said. "Just play and kick some butts, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," I said. I took a water bottle and ran off to get ready to play soccer one last time, and Dean slapped me on the back supportively.

The whole time, I kept checking to see if Dad came to yet, but every time I looked back, it was just Dean, grinning like there was no problem.

"Focus, Sam!" called Coach Conway.

We were annihilating the other team, and I was playing really well, but Dad still didn't show up. Then, the next time I looked over, there he was, standing with his hands in his pockets, next to Dean, smiling. I grinned and waved at him. Dad gave me a big thumbs' up, and I kept playing.

We won the championships. We lined up and got our trophies and our coach, Donnie's dad, gave us all a big hug. "Have a good rest of the summer," he told us, and then we dispersed into the crowd to find our parents. I ran up to Dean and Dad. Dean clapped me on the back.

"Good job sport," he said, but I wasn't listening.

Dad held out his hand. I took it. "Truce?" he asked.

"Truce," I decided. Then, Dad did something I really wasn't expecting. He pulled me into a hug and ruffled my hair. "I'm so proud of you, Sam," he told me. "Good job buddy."


	18. Christmas Presents, by Dean

**Eight Grade (School Year of 1992-1993)  
Christmas Presents, by Dean Winchester**

It wasn't unlike any other Christmas we had ever had. We had bought a Christmas tree a couple of weeks ago and had even decorated it with a few ornaments. But Dad had left on the morning of December 21 with a few bucks and said he'd be home n Christmas Eve. He promised he would be home on Christmas Eve.

So it was just me and my little brother, Sam, over winter break. Thankfully, it snowed enough for me to take Sam sledding, and we did that all week long. Dad called every night to check on us and say goodnight. Uncle Bobby came and dropped by on Christmas Eve, the day Dad was supposed to get back, during the day. "How are you boys holding up?" he asked.

"We're good, Uncle Bobby," Sam told him solemnly. For the past few months, Sammy had quieted down a lot; he did everything solemnly now.

"Good," Uncle Bobby replied simply. He pulled a couple of boxes out of his bag and handed them to us. They were wrapped in wrapping paper with pictures of Santa Claus on them.

"Aw yeah!" I exclaimed. "Thanks, Uncle Bobby!" I snatched my gift from him excitedly.

"Can we open them now?" asked Sam, more solemnly than me.

"Sure!" said Uncle Bobby. He made us lunch and we spent Christmas Eve with Uncle Bobby. He took us out to a fancy restaurant for dinner. It was nice. They had really expensive dinners, like lobster, and because Uncle Bobby told me I could order whatever I wanted, that's what I got. It wasn't as good as I thought it would be, but it was worth the dirty look Uncle Bobby gave me when he realized I didn't like it and only ordered it because it was the most expensive thing on the menu. To make up for it, I paid for half my dinner and half of Sam's from the money I won off some stupid kids at school who think they're better than me at pretty much anything.

"Merry Christmas boys," said Uncle Bobby as he left.

That evening, Sam turned on a Christmas special and after a while, I noticed he was wrapping presents. "Where did you get that?"I asked conversationally.

"I didn't steal it," he said defensively. "Uncle Bobby gave it to me." I sighed. I didn't remember Uncle Bobby giving Sam a present.

"Who's it for?" I asked.

"Dad," said Sam, and I heard an implied word that also starts with "d" that I got in trouble for putting in my rough draft.

"What is it?" I asked.

"None of your business," he told me. "It's for _Dad_."

"Whatever," I decided. I sat down next to him on the couch as he finished wrapping the present.

"When is Dad going to be home?" he asked suddenly.

"Soon," I answered.

"What's he doing?" Sam was just a fountain of annoying questions tonight.

"Working, Sam," I told him. "Don't ask stupid questions."

"What does he do?"

"You know what he does."

"I don't believe you," said Sam keenly. "I don't think Dad's a business man."

"Too bad for you, then," I lied. My Dad is not a business man.

"You can tell me the truth," he pressed.

"That is the truth."

"No it's not," he insisted.

I looked at him dangerously. "You don't want to know the truth, Sam," I warned.

Sam took a deep breath. From the look on his face, I should have known he had a dangerous card up his sleeve. "Is that why we never talk about Mom?" he asked.

I stood up. "Don't talk about Mom, Sam," I told him calmly. The room was feeling a little too small and a little like all the air was gone. My head was spinning and my vision was clouding. I turned around and grabbed my jacket.

"Dean, where are you going?" Sam asked me.

"Out," I grumbled, and I slammed the door so he knew not to follow me.

When I got back, Sam was in his pajamas and I was feeling kind of bad about yelling at Sam and leaving on Christmas Eve.

Until he pulled out an old leather bound book and asked, "Are monsters real?"

"No," I told him.

"Don't lie to me, Dean," he said, waving the book in my face. "I read all about them."

"You're not allowed to read Dad's journal, Sam," I reminded him.

"But I did!" he said triumphantly, coming over the couch to stand near me. He stopped looking so triumphant when he said what he said next. "I read that they got Mom."

I sighed, and tried not to get angry again. It probably wouldn't be too nice of me to leave Sam twice because of the same thing. "Sam," I sighed. But he was already worked up.

"Dean, if they could get Mom then they could get Dad, and if they can get Dad then they can get us!"

"They're not going to get us," I assured him. "Dad won't let them."

"What if they get Dad?" asked Sam.

"They can't get Dad. Dad's like a superhero."

Sam didn't say anything for a little while, and pretty soon, I thought Sam might be crying.

"Are you okay, Sam?" asked.

"Yeah," he lied. I knew he was lying because I had moved to sit next to him on his bed, and he was staring at the wall away from me. "I just think I'm going to go to sleep, okay?" he said.

"Okay," I said.

Sam rolled over on top of his covers and cried. "It's okay, Sam," I promised. "It's going to be all better when you wake up, you'll see."

When Sam fell asleep I covered him with his blanket and went to wait for Dad to get home. But when it was almost Christmas, I realized Dad wasn't going to get home in time, so I went and did something kind of illegal. But I'll leave it at that I got some presents for Sam and woke him up to tell him Dad came home and brought presents. Except, when Sam opened the presents they didn't exactly suit Sam's manly needs. Sam saw right through me, but he did something even more unexpected than stealing presents from a rich little girl.

He pulled Dad's present that he had been wrapping earlier out of that magical place on the couch where he hides everything. He put it on my knee. "Here," he said.

"No, that's for Dad," I told him.

"I want you to have it," said Sam seriously, using his weapon of mass destruction: the puppy dog eyes.

I caved and took it from him. I ripped the paper off. Inside was an amulet. It had a freaky little head on it. Dad told me later that it's a symbol of for protection; it wards off evil spirits.

"Thank you, Sam, I love it," I told him. I put it around my neck. Then I found us an old monster movie and we both fell asleep on the couch around two o'clock. So even though Dad wasn't home, it turned out to be a pretty great Christmas.


	19. Werewolf, by Sam

**A/N: So, basically, what I've been trying to do was get a grade up every two weeks, but since I'm crossing into high school, I'm going to take a breif hiatus from these. A month, maybe two, just to collect my thoughts on how to write for now almost adults Sam and Dean Winchester. Pretty soon, they're going to be older than me, and there's only eight more of these that I have to do, and it's kind of a daunting task. This time will also allow me to work on other things I've wanted to write since August, and focus on that essay I should be working on if I want to get into AP English next year. **

**A/N2: I would also like to point out that I completely ignore timelines presented in Supernatural. **

* * *

**Eight Grade (School Year of 1996-1997)**

**Werewolf, by Sam Winchester**

It was July, hot, humid, full of mosquitoes, and for most families, a perfect time for bonding, even though the weather made everyone crabby and miserable. For once, our family was not the exception; our family, however, had a different method of bonding.

Dad is a hunter. He has been my whole life. He's not a hunter in the traditional sense; the things he hunts have more teeth and claws and magic and rage than Bambi. He hunts monsters, ghosts, demons, the whole supernatural nine yards. Anything that haunts the backside of your worst nightmares, my dad and my brother, Dean, track down and kill them.

It all started when Mom died. I was a baby and my dad was happy. My mom was killed by something not natural, pinned to the ceiling, in my nursery, Dad always says. It's what drove him to this life on the road; he was going to find the thing that killed Mom and kill it. Whether to avenger her or to stop it from killing anyone else, I don't know. Sometimes, I don't think Dad even knows.

Because today, I sat in a little crap motel room without air conditioning in the hottest afternoon in July, reading about werewolves. From what I could tell, werewolves didn't kill Mom, just other peoples' moms, and dads, and brothers, and sisters. They're not picky.

"What d'you find, Sammy?" asked Dean, coming in from outside with lunch.

I shrugged. "Not much," I said. "Except, when they turn, they don't grow fur." But they _did _grow claws, and teeth. And eat peoples' hearts.

"Sounds fun," said Dean. I knew he was only humoring me. Last summer, Dean killed a werewolf while I waited in the car, but tonight, Dad and Dean were going to let me do the honors. Fantastic.

"When's Dad going to be back?" I asked, shoving the book away from me.

Dean shrugged. "Soon, I guess," he said, kicking his feet up on the table, nudging the book so it landed with a soft plop on the carpet. "He's got to find the mutt's hunting grounds first, so we can track the sucker down."

"There's a person inside the werewolf, Dean," I reminded him. "A _human_ person."

"And we're human enough to kill it when it's a dog," he countered. "It's killing people, Sam. We hunt killers. Besides," he added. "Try telling Dad that."

"I did."

"And?"

"He said the same as you," I sighed. "'It's killing people. We don't have a choice.'"

"See!" said Dean triumphantly. "Come on, quit wringing your hands about it, Sam, and have lunch." He nudged the bag towards me with his foot and I made a face.

"I'm not eating anything that's been that close to your feet," I told him.

He took his feet off the table and grabbed the bag. "Your loss, Sasquatch." He tossed me a sandwich and we ate in almost complete silence. Despite Dean continuously poking it with is boot, it tasted pretty good. Soon, Dad came back, told us he knew where the werewolf picked up its victims and ate his sandwich. Then he fell asleep, saying we were going to have a long night and we should sleep too.

Dean fell asleep with his feet up on the table.

I, however, did not fall asleep, on a bed, on a couch, or on a hard wooden chair. I picked my book off the floor and kept reading. When it was time to go, Dad woke up before Dean to wake us up. He looked at me.

"Did you sleep, Sam?" asked Dad. I shrugged. "It's not my fault if you get hurt," he said dismissively, which loosely translated to, "It's all my fault if you get hurt." But it still made me squirm. Dad sighed and tapped Dean's foot to wake him up. Dean's foot twitched at the contact.

"Five more minutes, Dad," he grumbled.

"If we wait five more minutes we'll miss our chance," Dad grumbled back. Sometimes I feel like I live in a den of grumpy bears for the amount of grumbling that goes on.

Dean groaned and stretched and grabbed his coat all in one fluid motion. "Come on," he said. "If I can't sleep, then we might as well get a move on." Dean flung open the door and waited for me and Dad to follow him outside.

We were at the top of a tall hill, overlooking a little lake where Dad said the werewolf had his hunting ground. I was holding a crossbow; Dad and Dean had guns with silver bullets. "What exactly am I looking for?" I asked.

"Anything out of the ordinary," said Dad.

"Like a werewolf chowing down on some poor chick's heart," offered Dean. Dad gave Dean a dirty look, but he sighed and didn't say anything. Sometimes, I think my Dad is a saint, if only for not smacking Dean on an hourly basis.

"Thanks, Dean," I said sarcastically.

We sat up on the hill for a good few hours and the light around us went from faded evening light to the pitch dark of the middle-of-the-summer-night. I started feeling drowsy and Dean had to keep poking me to make sure I didn't doze off. Even though there were lights, although few, down by the lake (probably to keep people from driving into it by accident) it was getting hard to see any activity below. "We're going to have to move close," Dad said. "Let's go!" Dean, who had stretched out on the grass, grumbled and picked up his gun. "Dean, for the love of all that is good and holy," Dad warned. "Stop grumbling and just get a move on!" Dean just grumbled some more, but he followed Dad down the hill and I followed Dean.

It was pretty soon after that when Dean spotted the werewolf. "Guys," he whispered, pointing to something running in a weird, half-human position along the side of the lake. I don't know why or how, but it was chasing a girl.

"That it Dad?" I asked nervously. I saw Dad nod solemnly, but it took a few moments to process. The only thing I could hear was my blood pumping in my ears, but when I finally put it together, I raised my crossbow. I took aim. I fired.

I missed. Dad swore. "Come on!" said Dad. Dean stood up with a wicked grin on his face and took off down the hill. I stood there, heart pounding trying to figure out what happened. My first kill turned out to be nothing.

Dean was halfway down the hill when he realized I wasn't following him. "Come on, Sam!" he called up to me. I shook myself, and ran down the hill after him. We ran all the way to where Dad was chasing the werewolf. He had his gun pointed on it and he shot. The werewolf, who looked awfully like a human, dropped and Dad ran forward to check if he was really dead. I tried to see too, but Dean held me back.

"You don't want to see this, Sam," he said.

"It's not my first body, Dean," I reminded him.

"Sammy," he insisted. "Werewolves are human, too."

I nodded and waited until Dad gave me the signal for us to come forward. I went, but Dean hung back. "It's okay that you missed," he said. "But you have to be more careful. You could have hit the girl."

"Where is the girl?" I asked.

"She got in her car and drove away," said Dad. He stood up. "We'll just have to practice," he said, clapping me on the back. "We have to burn the body."

Dean and I helped Dad burn the body, and on that humid July night, the ashes of a missing person billowed up in the sky, but no more girls went missing in that town.


	20. Driver's Ed, by Dean

**A/N: Well, I'm back, finally, with new ideas and vigor to get this done before the end of August. **

* * *

**Driver's Ed (School Year of 1993-1994)  
By Dean Winchester**

I guess the best thing about living on the road is that there's a lot of time to learn how to drive. My dad always said that we, my brother Sam and I, would learn how to drive as soon as our feet could reach the pedals, but I've been tall enough since I was twelve –two years ago –and I just drove for the first time last month.

It's on one of those back roads, and my dad and his friend Jim Murphy –Pastor Jim –are sitting up front, talking about the job they're taking, and Sam and I are playing tic-tac-toe on old scraps of newspapers and phonebooks and maps in the back when Dad comments, mostly to himself, that this would be a good place to learn.

Sam picks his head up from studying the sixth game of tic-tac-toe that he's going to lose to look around him. There's nothing around him. We're on a two-way highway surrounded by nothing but woods, and the road is flat and straight and surprisingly smooth for the amount of disuse it's in. "Learn what, Dad?" asks Sam. Sam loves to learn, but not always what Dad has to teach us.

"To drive," Dad answers.

"Cool," Sam whispers in disbelief.

Dad rolls his eyes and looks at Sam in the rearview mirror. "Maybe in a few years, Sammy," he laughs. "I was talking to your brother!"

"Really?" I gasp. "Finally!"

Pastor Jim chuckles and turns around to face us. "That's exciting, Dean," he says. "Soon you'll be driving around the country hunting demons just like you old man."

"Don't encourage him, Jim," I hear Dad say after I'm done cackling with excitement.

* * *

Next week, Dad drives me out to that stretch of road where he decided it would be safe for me to drive. As we drive, he coaches me through all the controls, and when we get to the spot I'm going to drive, he pulls the car over to the shoulder and gets out so I can slide over.

Dad goes over all the controls of the car one more time, and then another time, then he makes _me_ tell him what everything does before we can go, and when I'm finally, _finally_ given the "OK" to go, I barely move at all before Dad is telling me to slow down.

"Jeez, Dad," I swear. "I got this."

We're coasting, barely moving, and Dad has a look of pure terror on his face, but he shakes his head and says, "You're doing great, Dean," anyway.

I don't believe him because one hand is gripping the side of the seat so hard the leather is starting to tear, and the other is clenching and unclenching the air uncertainly, as if he's restraining himself from grabbing the wheel from me.

"You're making me nervous," I inform him.

Dad doesn't say anything but, "You can go a little faster."

So I do, and I accelerate faster than I thought I would, shooting out about ten feet, and then slowing down to the speed I was at before. I peek over at Dad who has his eyes closed and then I focus back on the road so Dad doesn't yell at me for that too.

After fifteen minutes of driving straight, I'm exhausted and Dad looks like he's going to have a coronary, when suddenly, there's another car on the road. I'm a little, not very, intimidated by its presence as it drives towards us, and I think the best thing to do is get past it, so I speed up a little.

"Slow, Dean," Dad says, and I think "slow" might be his new favorite word. "You don't have to go so fast." Dad is much more intimidated by the car than I am, but I don't see the big deal. I tell him so, but Dad just keeps on telling me to slow down. "Slow, slow, _slow!" _he says as we got past the car, watching it slide past easily. "_Careful!" _

"I _am_ being careful," I retort indignantly, looking at Dad.

"The _road, _Dean, look at the road!" he snaps. Dad yells at us a lot, but I've never heard him yell like this, and for whatever reason, I can't seem to look back at the road. "_Dean!" _he shouts frantically. "Look at the road, or so help me, I will never take you out driving again!"

I look back at the road, a little shaken for no reason at all and mutter, "You're no fun to drive with anyway."

"Dean, this is a metal _death machine," _he explains. "Please, just _listen to me _when I tell you to do something."

A half hour is all Dad can take of that, and he tells me to pull over so we can switch places, and I pull into the twigs and bushes.

Dad swears and gets out of the car so I can slide back over and he pulls out of the underbrush just fine.

"Sorry," I say.

"Nothing's wrong, Dean," he promises, but he still looks a little pale. "Everything's fine."

Dad drives back to Pastor Jim's house for lunch and to pick up Sam in silence, only breaking it to tell me every five minutes that I'm only going to get better at driving by driving.

Sam runs outside as soon as he hears us pull up to Pastor Jim's house, and as usual, he is filled with questions. "Was it fun?" he asks. "Did you crash?" His eyes widen. "Can I go now?"

"No," Dad and I say at the same time.

Pastor Jim follows Sam out of his house and looks at Dad. "How'd it go?" he asks.

Dad looks at me and smiles. "Dean did great," he tells Pastor Jim, who smiles too.

And yeah, I guess I did.


	21. Bones, By Sam

**A/N: Based off of 5x16, when Sam ran away to Flagstaff, and Dean thought he was dead. **

* * *

**Bones (School Year of 1997-1998)  
By Sam Winchester  
**

Bobby picked me up from Flagstaff, Arizona and brought me back to my dad and my brother in Middle-of-Nowhere, Arizona, where my brother sat on his bed with a very downtrodden look on his face, and I stood, leaning against the wall, arms folded defiantly, as my dad tore us both a new one, and punished nineteen-year-old Dean like he was a six-year-old and Dad took away his favorite toy by revoking any and all freedom privileges until further notice. Then Dad turned to me and fixed me with a cold hard started to yell again, threatening me with mostly empty promises.

"What?" I shouted back. "What are you going to do to me, Dad?" Dean groaned, hiding his face in his hands, not daring to look at either one of us.

"Don't test me, Sam," Dad growled ferociously.

But I'm not afraid of him, so I got right up in his face and said, "Or what, you'll kick me out?"

Dean threw himself back onto his bed dramatically, and Dad growled again, turned around and slammed the door behind him as he left shouting, "Neither of you are allowed out of there for the rest of the night."

We heard clinking in the rundown kitchen and Dad yelling at Bobby because yelling is scientifically proven to make him feel better, or something, when Dean said to me, staring at the ceiling, "Nice going, Sammy," and rolled over onto his stomach and went to sleep.

This whole dramatic family affair all happened because during our short, albeit eventful, stay in Arizona in December, our dad took a business trip the week before winter break, leaving moments after I told him how monumentally unhappy I was that we had to move _yet again_ for his stupid job. Dad, half out the door and brimming with excuses, was fed up and said simply, "Well, Sammy, if you don't like it, then you can move out!"

So move out is what I did, mostly just to prove a point, but also because I'd been on the edge of running away since the beginning of my freshmen year in high school. I snuck past Dean while he was asleep, and walked, took a bus, and hitchhiked far enough away that Dean wouldn't look for me.

I crashed the first place I found, after buying enough of the essentials –mostly cheese-puffs and soda – to last me for two weeks, and let the reality of the fact that I was on my own, no Dad or Dean breathing down my neck, wash over me. My heart pounded with the thrill of freedom when I realized for the first time in my life, I could do whatever I wanted.

I crashed in a tiny abandoned trailer with one light bulb and a wet, musty couch, and a barely functioning TV, but with a VCR and two or three tapes of Dean's favorite moves, so I went to bed and embraced my new life.

The next morning I was woken by a scratching at the door, and even though my previous life had taught me to be wary of any and all scratching, because at the very least it's rats, I opened the door with a squeak, and got the surprise of my life.

A very mangy, very thin dog came running in through the door, pushing me aside and jumping up on the couch. I think he might have been some kind of retriever or something. He was looking at me curiously, like I just got here out of nowhere and he didn't really feel threatened by my presence in the least.

"Do you live here, boy?" it occurred to me, sticking my hand out tentatively for him to sniff. He just licked it and shoved his whole head under my palms before I decided if I actually wanted to pet him or not.

He was such a friendly dog, and so thin, so I went to find us some pizza. When I came back in, the dog, who I decided to call Bones, was jumping all over me, like I was an old friend.

"Hey, come on, Bones," I said, pushing his head down gently so he would get off of me. "I got us a treat."

I fed half the pizza to him and ate the other half. When we were finished, I fished around for whatever money I had left, and walked to the pet store to buy dog supplies, a leash most importantly so he wouldn't run off and get hit by a car when I tried to bathe him later.

And that's what I did. I dragged an old garden hose that I was surprised even worked behind the trailer and did my best the wash Bones's matted hair, and he licked me on the face, either as a thank you, or a "please stop brushing me, Sam."

That's basically how I spent two weeks, playing with Bones, watching bad movies on a cracked TV screen, eating junk food, before Dad came home and Dean hit the panic button, which had Dad calling every one he's ever talked to, including Bobby Singer, a man who used to be like our uncle until he and Dad had an argument that almost ended with the police showing up at Bobby's doorstep.

And it was Bobby who knocked at my door to pick me up. "I'm here to take you home, son," he said.

I crossed my arms indignantly. "How'd you know I was here?" I asked.

"I got my ways, kid," Bobby said. "Come one, your daddy's worried sick about you."

"Yeah right," I grumbled, casting a forlorn look at Bones, who was sitting on the couch looking at me and Bobby, wagging his tail a little.

Bobby gave me a look that I couldn't quite read, maybe because he didn't really know how to explain what he wanted to say without upsetting the natural order of things. Finally, he just sighed and said, "Look, Sam, it's no secret that me and your old man aren't on the best of terms, but if there's one thing I know for sure, it's that he _worries about you_."

"Whatever," I said, and I followed Bobby to his car so he could drive me home. "Wait!" I said suddenly, stopping with my hand on the car door. "What about Bones?"

"Who?"

"The _dog, _Bobby," I explained impatiently. "I can't just leave him here."

"I'll take care of that," Bobby said at once, and I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that.

Bobby drove me home just for me to be enveloped in two separate pairs of arms in two separate suffocating hugs, and told by two separate angry voices that they both thought I was dead, but they're glad I'm okay, and two Sammy-I-swear-to-God-if-you-ever-run-away-again empty threats. Dad even gives Bobby a grudging thank you, and when I'm in my room, listening to Bobby's car sputtering away, and Dad swearing loudly at nothing in the other room, I think of the dog and grainy cowboy movies, and I wished I was still in the beat up trailer with no one breathing down my neck, and only a stray dog to worry about.


End file.
